Dreams of many things
by Mutilated Gem
Summary: A collection of dreams from BGII:SoA
1. Chapter 1

"A dream," Imoen's smooth voice echoed quietly in the distance of the unfocused, decaying garden, where the light of a dead sun left a cold sensation. "A dream of many things; of friends and family..." The familiar pink-haired girl walked closer with intent, despite the dazed look in her intelligent eyes, "These things always mean something... don't they?" Cythera couldn't find the words. The tone Imoen used suggested that she had doubt. That she didn't know who she was anymore.

"Do you remember these doors? ...I remember, I think..." The memory of the short walk to the giant doors of Candlekeep blurred together, leaving it very difficult to recall how they got there.

"Yes," Imoen continued with a slight chuckle, "this has been my home for so long... But it's too late to go back now. They wouldn't have you now. They wouldn't have me."

There was a hint of resentfulness in her manner before she sighed dejectedly, "had no use..."

Imoen furrowed her brow a little, the creases of a worrisome frown. "Someone else does," she swallowed hard; Cythera could see the muscles in her throat contract and release. "H-he wants something... I-I don't know why... Those in the cowls don't even know..."

Imoen swallowed again, and opened her mouth once more, her frustration sounded more of a sob that she tried not to voice "why don't I know...?"

Again the walk was short, yet difficult to remember.

Three statues stood in front of the second arch of the citadel. "Do you remember Gorion?" Gorion... The one to the left was of medium height. Cythera remembered nothing of him, and relied on what she saw; a wizened old man, wearing thick layers of robes that brushed against the floor with a large hood that he probably never used. Cythera guessed he must've been some kind of powerful wizard, or sage.

"Or the others?"

Tethroil's statue was positioned in the middle, while Elminster's was to the right. All three statues were in floor length robes, Tethtoril wore his large hood. While Eminster wore an extravagant and clichéd pointed hat, as well as the heavy robes to match. Tethtoril was about the same height as Gorion, while Elminster towered them both. How Cythera knew who was who, she didn't know.

"I think I do... they were... no... wait. They were the guidance." A shadow of a smile pulled at Imoen's cheeks, "and there was always much more to learn."

The fond comment was cause for Imoen to think about what she had just said. Her closed in body language became even more isolated.

Cythera saw her hug her stomach. "But, it is too late now. They are so far away..."with a miserable turn of her head, she glanced at her with tears in the corners of her eyes.

Imoen's body gradually turned to follow, "Cythera… you are far away, too far away to help... Why? Th-the memories they should stay, but he digs deeper... Pushes everything aside..."

Numbly, Imoen returned her attention to the three statues; Gorion, Tethtoril and Elminster. "I don't remember any of you..." all three statues cracked, as if reacting to her declaration. All three statues decompressed before being totally obliterated, as blood curdling screams of anguish followed, then silence.

A little further down the dead gardens that surrounded the grand library, stood yet another statue. This one stood taller than Cythera and Imoen, wearing a complete set of sinisterly spiked armour. The helmet looked menacing with the teeth of a behemoth that overshadowed his eyes and mouth. "Do you remember Sarevok? Or... any other? I-I don't know..." Another frown graced Imoen's face.

One foot in front of the other, she walked closer and closer to the seemingly hostile statue. Almost like she was afraid that this one was going to come to life and attack, "they sought your death and mine. They seemed so important at the time, but I... "

Imoen shook her head, "I don't remember them at all. Someone else is..." Another shake of her head, and a sigh before she turned to glance over her shoulder at Cythera, "someone else is more dangerous... closer... I can feel it."

Sarevok's statue cracked, decompressed and was utterly destroyed. Like the others, it left behind another scream of pained anguish.

Imoen then stumbled slightly to the left of where Sarevok's statue was no more. Intense pain grasped her stomach as she clutched at it tightly with a hunched spine. Imoen then turned to face Cythera… she had to see her one last time. "Do you remember... me?" She looked up at Cythera with a hopeful expression, despite the creases of hurt in her brow, "I can almost see... I-I mean I want to but I..." Imoen's eyes closed as she cut herself off, and took one large step back, every word fuelled with sorrow, "no. Too late. You will come too late."

Imoen turned to stone.

"She resists." Cythera spun around to see the origin of the masculine voice. There about a short distance was Irenicus in her peripherals. Cythera strained the muscles in her neck further to get a better view, "she clings to her old life as though it actually matters. She will learn."

"What is this, Irenicus?" Cythera almost felt her voice crack.

"This? This is a portrait of what will happen and what may happen." Irenicus gestured with powerful arms to the whole surrounding with a soft wave of each. Dropping them, he strode a proud stride towards Imoen. Behind his veined mask, he studied her statue with piercing blue eyes, "do you cling to the past, or can you see through the pain?

"You feel the potential within you, don't you? Will you cringe at what you know you want, what you can take as your own?"

Cythera didn't answer him.

Irenicus turned his back to Imoen to face her, with what she could only imagine was disapproval, behind that mask of his "you know what you want. It is you, after all, who has brought us to this dream. Nothing is real... yet."

Imoen shattered, and all remained eerily silent.


	2. Chapter 2

"Life is strength. This is not to be contested, it seems logical enough. You live, you affect your world." The softly spoken voice, obscure in its greeting bounced off each side of Cythera's skull.

"But is it what you need? You are... different inside." She realised the voice could only belong to one person, if he could even be called a person, in the whole of Faerun; Jon Irenicus.

The tall, well-muscled and lithe silhouette that belonged to him only convinced her more so of the evil incarnate.

Her peripheral vision blurred to a prosaic view of debris. The now dull and lifeless colour to what once was proud beige walls of the Candlekeep library. The old and sturdy oak bookcases were littered with different magnitudes of heavily dusted, cobwebbed tomes.

The ancient books were scattered amongst each other, volume after volume, were open to specific pages within the almost neglected shelves. The pages revolved around physical manifestation, and the dead Lord of murder, Bhaal.

Pairs of white molten candles fire ignited the candles at each side of every bookcase. Dying flames, struggled for life against cold merciless wind, as they dimly illuminated the room. Cythera could see the wax drip rapidly onto the grey marble floor.

It was the only source of light within the forgotten archive.

She saw him move, that he turned abruptly, out of her indistinct peripherals. The source of his contempt and interest was that of one of the more common statues. She knew that he meant to show her something, something she knew he thought was blindingly obvious. Though to be honest, she didn't care what he had to say.

Irenicus made gestures as he glided gracefully against grey marble. His footsteps echoed, as long nimble fingers stretched and twisted in alien positions. Cythera felt the air shift and become still, as if the whole world had stopped in that moment to keep the anticipation on the rise.

She almost wished it had.

Slowly, the statuette began to crack even larger by the second until it shattered suddenly and completely, the excess stone disappearing the moment it touched the ground below.

There stood the former statuette into a newly transformed, young woman of a curvy physique. Her height not much difference to Cythera's. The engraved decorations of what passed for clothing had come to life as well, her bland floor length skirt just barely brushing grey, lifeless marble.

Lose ebon hair cascaded down and past her slender shoulders, while almond green eyes of emerald-fire shone. Her emerald orbs flickered, and darted frantically from one place to another.

A sign of a caged animal. Cythera frowned, was the woman paralysed?

A scarred pale hand came from under her ebon hair, gently clasping it together and smoothing it out to lie on one shoulder; her hair easily swept past her breastbone. He slid his hand away from her hair and down the small nape of her sun kissed neck, "This woman now lives and has strength of a sort," he explained.

"She lost her parents to plague, her husband to war, though she persevered. Her farmland has prospered, her name respected and her children well fed, safe."

The woman's emerald-fire like eyes widened in silent shock, her pupils shrunk with horror and anguish, with a quick ripping motion of Irenicus' hands, and the devastating energy that followed.

Her body twisted and jerked in place, her mouth open in a silent scream. The woman fell to her knees with a thud, her face the everlasting expression of agony on her mangled corpse before it faded from existence, leaving behind a pool of blood somehow "and now she is dead."

She looked at him.

"Her land will be divided, her children will move on and she will be forgotten. She lived a 'good' life, but she had no real power; in the end she was just a slave to death." Irenicus returned Cythera's gaze with narrowed eyes, scrutinizing her every detail, "I wonder if you are destined to be forgotten... Will your life fade in the shadow of greater beings?"

Cythera watched with a blank stare, only just lucid of the fact that Irenicus moved closer. Her skin crawled as she suddenly became aware that Irenicus had reappeared behind her.

She would've moved to turn and face him, to throw a punch, a kick, anything... Had she not been frozen in place?

"You are born of murder; that of the very essence that takes life. You have power, if you wish it."

"No! I don't accept this! None of it this to be believed!" Cythera didn't realise that she was able to talk, let alone shout, until her declaration. By then she found herself free from their invisible prison. She turned to glare, to attack Irenicus, only to be met by emptiness.

Back to the collective of statues, stood Irenicus with what she imagined was a detestable expression.

"Is it? But the consequences are so very real..."

Another wave of Irenicus' magical energy, revealed a small electric blue portal of flames that pulsed and circled around itself.

It grew by the second, and by the time it was finished, it was large enough to fit a person of at least 6 feet. Inside was the darkest black of the void; forced through it was the familiar, petite and pink-headed Imoen.

Her faded chin-length hair dishevelled, as her grey eyes darted around. Panic arose as she hurriedly picked herself up. Her pale skin was grimy, the fuchsia tunic and black slacks Imoen currently wore were tattered, ripped and stained with a dry substance that resembled blood.

"Your actions effect so many others, other than just yourself. You will come to realise how very little choice you have."

Irenicus' scarred hand grabbed onto Imoen's mattered hair, causing her to emulate a gasp and a small whimper as her head was forced back. "You will do what you must; become what you must, or others will suffer for your cowardice."

Irenicus gave Imoen one simple look, before returning his attention back to Cythera, "You WILL accept the gifts offered to you."

Cythera shot awake, gasping for breath, while cradling her head between her thighs. Those dreams always caused a tremendous headache. She spent a few minutes in that position before finally shuddering in a breath and threw the blankets off, and walked out the door, head splitting and nowhere near rested.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stand."

Irenicus' voice again...

Cythera's weary body, rigid and strained against the invisible force that enforced her to stand. As Cythera stood, she tried a futile attempt at speech.

Speech was not an option apparently.

She was paralysed, again, helpless to do anything other than watch.

Again.

Panic arose. Nostrils flared with lungs filled with shallow breaths. Clear grey eyes darted from area to area within the partially forgotten library of Candlekeep.

The interior was empty besides Irenicus and herself. The white molten candles were gone. In its stead was a strange faint green illuminating glow, the cold ambiance ever-present.

Remaining calm was getting harder and harder by the second.

"You rest each night uneasy," Irenicus started in an understanding manner from behind her. Cythera imagined that he stood behind the lecturer's desk that always remained just meters short of the entrance of the ground level. "Yes, you are weary; you struggle daily.

"It will not end, you know, until you acknowledge what you are."Irenicus' scarred fingers glided against the timber of the lecturer's desk while he did his quick and graceful stride. Eerily graceful...

He stopped and rotated half way, to face Cythera and the space directly in front of him. Irenicus glanced emotionlessly for a second at Cythera, before returning his attention to the space before him. "You walk as a mortal, taking no advantage from your heritage, from your talents within... So many things of flesh are greater than you.

"Now walk among them; these beasts that are less than you are. See their strength; see how easily you fall to their muscle and skill."

The half-elf that came into appearance was an exact copy of Cythera, the same cuts and burns on her slightly toned arms. The same oval shaped face with angular facial features, the same ebony hair with the single blonde highlight, as well as the same almost lithe physique.

The doppelganger seemed to be in a trance.

The creature that Irenicus summoned, with Cythera's copy, towered its' seven feet worth of height over both Cytheras.

It appeared to be humanoid with rustic-like bat wings of the darkest black that could extend for 5 meters. Its dark aura of power surrounded the creature and its glow of flames that danced off its burnt skin. In its hand was what looked like to be a sword with electricity flickering off the length of the sword, along with engraved sigils of the Seven Hells. In the other hand was a whip of many, many tails engulfed with eternal flames.

Cythera recognised the hellish creature as a balor.

One of the upper level demons.

The balor roared an ear-splitting sound before walking towards the doppelganger, one hoof in front of the other, its' downwardly curved horns reflected the ominous light.

"It's hopeless..."Cythera thought, rather than heard her doppelganger say.

Not even a second later the balor struck with its' engraved sword, and the doppelganger was either too slow, or frozen in fear. The sword stuck into the soft flesh of her neck, in one swift move, cleaved her head off her shoulders.

It took about three seconds for her body to fall with the demonic laughter that faded into nothing as the demon disappeared.

"Why do you stand for this?" Irenicus sounded outraged. "Why do you submit to the flesh when death is bred in your bones?

"Do you realise the power you might hold? When the world of flesh is beneath you even creatures mysterious and magical will fall."

Another summoning spell took place, bringing forth three other creatures. A humanoid being that wore the head of an octopus, its' tentacles hung to its' length to its chest. A vampire that wore its age well, considering its whole body was covered in wrinkles. And an animated corpse, in the progress of decomposing, that happened to wear tattered mage robes and the smell of must.

A lich; Cythera realised.

Lastly the fourth summon was another copy of Cythera that stood in front of the vampire, the unknown creature, and the lich.

Faster than Cythera thought possible, she saw her copy completely obliterate all three. Starting with the lich, the doppelganger called forward a circular ball of energy that pulsed. With it thrown at the lich it disintegrated upon impact.

Next was the vampire, and it fell victim to a strike of lightening that went through its' chest and struck it squarely in the heart. With a quiet sound of shock and hurt, it fell to its knees before its body transmitted into foggy mist.

And lastly was the unknown creature.

It fell to the small and controlled earthquake that split the ground beneath it in two, the creature in the flames that sprouted out. While arms and hands reached out from under it and pulled at its legs and arms to bring it under. Its' pain-filled and terrorised screeches could even be faintly heard even after the ground closed, until all was quiet again.

"HAHAHAHAHA!"Cythera watched expressionlessly as the second doppelganger laughed psychotically. The psychotic laughter echoed throughout the library as she faded from existence.

"Follow and receive the gifts you are owed by the blood in your veins. Follow if only to protect the weak that fell because of you."

Cythera shot awake at the first sight of Imoen, before the dream had a chance to finish itself.


End file.
